Strange New World
by seriousish
Summary: Kirk gets a new first officer, a new mission, and a serious headache. KirkxGaila, SpockxUhura, and the crew.
1. Strange New World

_Captain's Log: After two months on Starfleet proving grounds, the Enterprise's shakedown cruise is nearly complete. The repairwork done by Mr. Scott is nothing short of exceptional, in many cases exceeding the designers' hopes. All that's left now is to see how fast the most advanced nacelles in Starfleet can go._

The bridge was a bustle of activity, and unusually, Kirk wasn't the calm center of it. He was hunched over Sulu's station, watching every coordinate of the course the helmsman was plotting. Over the past weeks he'd been familiarizing himself with the various departments, no matter how boring Spock tried to make science. Jim wondered if he was still harboring some resentment over that fistfight.

He tapped the helm's comm.. "Scotty, ready for the big show?"

"Cannae wait, cap'n."

"Then let's not. Sulu, we pointed at Earth?"

"Yes sir." Even Sulu's dutiful monotone couldn't hold in his excitement.

Kirk sat down in the captain's chair. "Maximum warp. Hit it."

The stars pulled toward them. A purring rumble ran through the ship as she climbed the warp factors. Jim remembered his stepfather's car. It'd been a sweet ride before he'd given it off a cliff. Not that he regretted it _per se_…

"Warp factor eight, Keptin," Chekov reported.

"Steady as she goes."

* * *

Kirk watched the spacedock workers transferring supplies onto the Enterprise, reloading the torpedo tubes, checking the phasers, and possibly spit-shining the nacelles. Any minute now, he was expecting to receive new orders, a five-year mission into unexplored space. What better place to wait than the observation deck?

The bartender brought him a steaming mug of coffee. "I didn't order—" He smelled it. Martian beans, his favorite. How did he know?

Jim looked around and saw Gaila sitting alone by one of the windows. She nodded to him, smiling. He knew she'd been on leave with the rest of the nonessential personnel during shakedown. Now seemed like an excellent time to renew acquaintances.

A woman in command gold, black pants stretching down to shining boots, sat down across from him. She was dark-featured, with long black hair running down to the shoulders of her turtleneck. By the lines at the corners of her eyes, she looked to be in her mid-forties. She wore no jewelry. "Captain James Tiberius Kirk," she said in a rich voice, accented with the husk of the Persian colonies. It wasn't a question. "Number One, reporting for duty as your first officer."

He couldn't help it. She was so serious, he smirked a little. "I hate to break it to you, but I'm not hiring."

She presented him with a letter. "New orders. Commander Spock is summarily demoted to science officer. The Enterprise is to chart Sector 1700 for Starfleet Cartography."

He grabbed the letter-pad from her and opened it with his thumbprint. "Sector 1700 has already been mapped," he said as he scanned his orders.

"Not to Command's satisfaction." She stood briskly. "Captain Kirk, did you actually believe the Federation would just let you and your _classmates_ run around with the flagship? Putting fresh blood in command of the Enterprise may look good to the appropriations committees, but those in power have not forgotten your record."

He looked up at her. "Not forgotten your record, _Captain_."

She smiled coolly. "Of course. Would you like to tell the Commander or shall I?"

* * *

"I'm not surprised," Spock said, not even missing a note on his harp.

"I'm glad somebody isn't, this is outrageous," Uhura insisted. She'd understandably stopped singing.

Kirk had made sure to wait a while after Spock had said enter. The graceful notes and luminous singing was definitely the kind of thing Jim would use for mood music and he didn't need Pon Farr practice in his head. But it turned out Spock and Uhura had literally been making music together. He was never going to understand them.

"Anyone with an iota of logic can foresee that the Captain will be frequently leading away teams. As science officer, I would also be in harm's way. Having an experienced bridge officer to take command is only logical."

Jim made a rude noise. "Yeah, like I'm going to trust my ship with the Ice Queen of Starfleet. Spock, what do you know about her?"

"In Earth terminology, she's a kingmaker. She has served with numerous captains before their promotion to the admiralty; her opinion is highly valued by command. I knew her during my service with Captain Pike. She struck me as a highly competent officer, albeit not the most personable one."

"Tell me about it."

"So she's going to be second-guessing us every lightyear," Uhura said. "Great."

"It may be." Spock set down his harp, folded his hands together. "I have every confidence in this ship, her crew, and her captain. We will meet Number One's specifications. Captain, you are the youngest captain in Starfleet, therefore the least experienced, therefore the least trusted."

"Please Spock, don't spare my feelings."

"Look upon this as an opportunity to prove your mettle. I am certain you will rise to the occasion."

"And if I save the Earth _again_, maybe I can stay out until midnight." A comm. tone interrupted his grousing. "Kirk here."

It was Number One. "Captain Kirk, all supplies are loaded and all crew are accounted for. We are ready to disembark."

"I'm on my way." He closed the line. "Glad to see she's making herself at home. As you were, Mr. Spock, _Nyota_."

* * *

Kirk thought of checking the bridge's environmental controls, but it wasn't 30 degrees below, it was just Number One. She got out of the captain's chair (His. Chair.) and sat at the weapons station. "All systems functioning within safe parameters, we are go for launch."

_Safe parameters? Don't tell me she rolled back Scotty's modifications._ Kirk took the conn. "Mr. Sulu, set a course for Sector 1700, warp 7. Let's see what this baby can do."

"Captain, the efficiency of the dilithium crystals decreases by 4% above warp 5," Number One said archly.

Kirk spun to look at her. "Come on, Numero Uno, live a little."

"Course laid in," Sulu reported.

"Hit it."

The stars took longer to stretch out than usual. Oh yeah, she had definitely been _messing_ with the _Enterprise_.

"May I have a word with you in your ready room?" Number One asked abruptly.

"Anything you want to say to me, you can say in front of my crew," Jim said, all smiles.

Number One didn't react to the blatant stares she got. "I've read your file. I'm surprised you accepted your orders so… meekly."

Kirk gritted his teeth. She'd won, did she have to rub it in? "If Command thinks the flagship is best used to draw road maps, who am I to argue?"

"Cartography may not be the most glamorous work, but by charting navigational hazards, we will save many lives. I trust you won't find it too… boring."

Kirk stroked his chin. "I'm sure I'll find something to do to pass the time."

* * *

Gaila howled out her orgasm, tossing her head so copper hair went everywhere, then sliding her sweat-slick skin against Kirk's one last time as they parted. One thing Jim liked about Orions: when you did right by them, they weren't afraid to let you know it.

"Something's bothering you," she said, slinking against the pillow. "I can always tell."

"You heard about Number One?"

"You lambasted her in front of the entire bridge, so… yes."

"I've been a model student for three years. You'd think Starfleet would trust me to _scan shit_ without a babysitter."

"Model student?" Gaila teased, slinking her fingers over his chest.

"Well… I've never been caught…"

A lock of hair fell across Gaila's cheek. She pinched in. Swore in Orionese and went to her nightstand. Jim appreciated the view, if not the sudden suspension of touching.

"Why didn't you tell me my hairclip broke?" Gila agitatedly ran a comb through her untamable hair.

"I was a little busy at the time."

"Now I'll have to spend all night crimping it."

Jim rolled over to face her. "Gaila, no one's going to take you seriously because you put your hair up."

She shot him a look.

"I mean, you don't need to do that for people to take you seriously."

"Easy for you to say. Humans, male, heterosexual. You've never been called an animal woman. And do you know what people would say if they found out I was sleeping with the Captain?"

"'That lucky bastard'," Kirk said in Scotty's thick accent.

"Be serious," she almost swore.

"Fine. This is my serious face." He rolled out of bed and started to dress. "Why'd you join Starfleet?"

"I wanted to help people."

"Like Captain Pike helped you escape from the camps."

"Yes."

"And you heard about how tolerant Starfleet was, how its mission was to accept people, infinite diversity in infinite circumstances."

Gaila stopped brushing her hair. "Yes."

"So give people a chance to accept you. If they don't, I promise I'll maroon them on the next gas giant."

Jim saw Gaila's bright smile in her mirror. "You're wrong, you know. They wouldn't say you're a lucky bastard. They'd say I'm a lucky bitch."

Jim pulled on his boots. "They'd be right." His communicator rang. "Un-_be_-lievable." He looked for it. Gaila tossed it to him. "Kirk."

Number One. "Captain, you're not in your quarters."

He rolled his eyes. "That's right. I'm not."

"We've received a hail from a merchant vessel. I thought you might like to know, so you can determine if it's worth the flagship's time."

Kirk grimaced. "Well, if you're not going to, I'll be right up." He shut off the line, then gave Gaila's anatomy a 'parting shot'. "Don't get dressed in anything too complicated."

Gaila held up a Risan negligee as he left. "Will this do?"

Jim walked into a wall before he remembered where the door was.

* * *

James T. Kirk reported for duty in a black tee, pajama bottoms, and sehlat slippers. To her credit, Number One didn't blink an eyelash as she relinquished the conn.

"So, you'll be running the night shift _and_ serving as first officer. When do you sleep?"

"I don't."

Jim wished Spock were on duty. That needed a raised eyebrow.

"Hailing frequencies open," the communications officer said.

"On screen." Kirk crossed his legs, letting one slipper dangle off his foot. "This is James T. Kirk of the starship Enterprise, how ya doin'?"

Number One's hand twitched as if it really wanted to impact her forehead.

The man on the viewscreen was a heavyset and fastidiously-dressed ruffian with intricately-curlicued facial hair to make up for his bald spot. A festive array of garments clothed him, highlighted by the golden sash keeping his trousers up. He petted a small, cooing furball. "Captain Kirk, it is my heartfelt pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Harcourt Fenton Mudd, surveyor, merchant, and gentleman of fortune. And I have an offer Starfleet will grandiloquently thank you for bringing to their attention."

Kirk grinned at Number One. "Is it just me or does this seem like a golden opportunity?"

"I wouldn't venture to speak for the crew in this matter," she said evenly.

"Hear me out, Captain. I have located that which mortal man hath sought since first turning their orbs skyward. Heaven, my dear captain. I've found Heaven."

* * *

Author's note: For what it's worth, I'm picturing Shohreh Aghdashloo as Number One. The one part of Star Trek that I thought was weakest was how Kirk is suddenly in charge of the flagship by the end of the movie. So here it's all something of a PR move/desperation on Starfleet's part, with a no-nonsense XO to keep him in check. This is a multi-part fic, which will focus more on the rest of the crew on coming installments (hopefully).


	2. Planet Eden

Mudd's ship was a Chevrolet Lechwe, bigger than a shuttle but able to fit comfortably into the Enterprise's landing bay. It was also the most beat-up, filthy, neglected, rusted, _gnawed on_ ship Montgomery Scott had ever seen. "Ah, ya poor darlin', what has the mean man been doin' ta yea?"

Mudd overheard. "Just a few nicks and dings in the course of honest labor, dear boy." He clapped Scotty on the shoulder.

"Honest—that hull's been hit with phasers, disruptors, even plasma cannons! Your engine's venting more photons than a quasar and your rear stabilizer is shot ta blazes!"

"Well, as it turns out, you really don't need one. Ah-heh."

"_Mister Mudd_, do you know what it does ta your ship to run the warp core in such a condition? A fine, fine piece of engineering like that, and you've turned it into the galaxy's biggest cheese grater!"

"Come now, Monty, it wasn't that good a ship."

"Hold me back, Keenser!" The tiny alien dutifully wrapped himself around Scotty's legs as the engineer swung wildly just short of Mudd. "Ye lillipudded bastard, ya shouldn't be allowed to captain so much as a bicycle!"

"Captain Kirk! Captain Kirk!" Mudd ran to the turbolift, where Kirk and Number One had just arrived. "Is this any way for the vaunted Federation to treat a guest? Your chief engineer has just accosted me! I trust he will be discharged in due course!"

"You never know, Mudd. I might hand him a commendation. It all depends on this Eden of yours."

Number One managed to roll her eyes with her whole body, yet without moving.

"Cap'n, his warp core is running completely without filtration! It's unsafe at any warp factor!"

Kirk glanced at Number One. "See? If this doesn't pan out, at least we'll have ticketed a safety risk. And people wonder why we're the flagship."

Number One's laser-beam eyes stayed on Scotty. "Mr. Scott, patch up Mr. Mudd's engines and cite him for all relevant offenses."

"My pleasure, ma'am."

"And now that my second-in-command is done, Harry, let's get down to business." Kirk gestured for Mudd to follow him as he walked past a line of shuttlecraft.

"Yes, Captain, I'm prepared to accept several dozen bars of gold-pressed latinum, although how many dozen is at your discretion."

"That depends on whether the planet is a scientific curiosity or suitable for colonization. You wouldn't be the first surveyor who tried to sell Starfleet a fake bill of goods."

"Captain, I'm shocked and offended! When have I ever given you reason to mistrust me?"

"When I read your record. Smuggling, gambling, prostitution, distribution of Venus pills…"

"Youthful high spirits!"

"You were forty."

"I was getting in touch with my inner child. Captain, please, all you have to do is take a look at my little paradise. Of course, if Starfleet has given you a more pressing mission, I'll find some other starship captain to report this to. I'm sure he'll be happy to have a planet named after him."

Outwardly, Jim was stoic. Inside… _Helm, set a course for planet Kirk!_

* * *

"Oh, the lonely life of a spacer!" Mudd dabbed at his forehead with a monogrammed handkerchief. "I've actually grown unused to a hull not saturated with cosmic rays! And the good! Treasure your replicator, dear fellows! I must soldier on with naught but a protein resequencer! Earth delicacies such as these can simply not be enjoyed in liquid form." Mudd took another bite of pizza. "_Heavenly_."

Mudd was holding court in the mess hall over a three-course meal his guest status had netted him. The more impressionable crewmembers were drawn to the novelty of the rogue. Chekov, front and center, listened to his tales of the gritty life of a modern-day space boomer.

"What about vymen? Surely, it must get lonely."

"That, fortuitously, is not a problem." Mudd opened his coat to reveal an apparatus dangling from his pocket. "With this Deltan love simulator, there's no desire I can ferment that goes unfulfilled. Perhaps I could be convinced to part with my spare, for a minor compensation…?"

Near the back of the mess hall, Spock was taking his breakfast with the crew. Though the replicator in his quarters was functional, he thought it prudent to be a fixture of the crew's lives, and he wished to observe their cohesion while off-duty. His conclusions were mixed. Underneath their cockiness and professionalism was self-doubt at being in space so soon, the same space that had so recently claimed their friends and classmates at the Battle of Vulcan. A CO with a strong hand could ease their fear, but Kirk was either oblivious to it or unable to face it because he was denying the same doubts. His older self had spoken of Kirk as a man of great skill and leadership. So far, Spock had seen little that could not be attributed to charisma… or luck.

He ignored the surprise the ship's cook showed at serving him and sat down across from Ensign Gaila, alongside Uhura.

"And I just… remembered where I left my underwear!" Gaila got up.

"Please sit, Ensign. This concerns you."

Gaila sat back down. "It's a bit early for a promotion. If there's such a thing as too early anymore. Not that Jim doesn't deserve the captain's chair… did I just call the Captain 'Jim'?"

"Ensign," Spock stressed. "I am assigning Mr. Mudd to new quarters. I would be grateful if you would escort him there. Coincidentally, this would seem an excellent opportunity to ascertain the facts of Mudd's proposition."

Gaila let down her hair. "Always happy to make a guest feel welcome. Uh… can I finish my omelet first?"

"Yes."

Gaila ate, watching Spock and Uhura sitting side by side.

"So how's the sex?"

"Gaila!" Uhura whispered fiercely.

"It is satisfactory,"

"Spock!"

* * *

"So, what _is_ a beautiful darling like you doing on a boring starship like this?"

Behind every word Mudd spoke, Gaila could hear a snicker about Orion animal women. She'd gotten good at enduring it. "I enlisted to meet men," she heightened her voice into a heliumish titter. "All these strapping lads in uniforms… I'll have no problem finding a husband!"

"Oh?" Mudd stroked his moustache, then caught up to Gaila as she turned a corner. It was easy when most of her locomotion was spent on wagging her hips. "And how could a Starfleet officer's salary support a woman of your, ah, tastes?"

"Money isn't everything. I want a real man to be my mate. Someone… _courageous_." She unlocked Mudd's new cabin. "I think you'll like this one much better. It has a window!"

Mudd strolled inside, taking the room in. "It is quite lovely, but nothing compared to the hostess." He lazed back on a divan. "You know, the life of a spaceman is not for the faint of heart. There are radiation storms and Klingons and meteorites. I wouldn't mind settling down on a nice agrarian world, if I could find someone to share my newfound affluence with."

Gaila sighed and swooned against the wall. "I'm sorry, I'm sure you're very brave, but I'm looking for someone… _courageous._ What's so dangerous about discovering a paradise planet?"

"Dangerous!" Mudd sat bolt upright. "I risk my life evading pirates to bring your captain… your captain… oh dear."

"Don't get too comfortable," Gaila advised him as she left.

* * *

"Pirates," Kirk said, sounding a bit impressed despite himself. He'd never fought pirates. "And this just… slipped your mind?"

Mudd wheeled his way around the bridge. "I… didn't think you'd believe me. They're not your usual pirates."

"Coming up on Mudd's coordinates," Sulu reported.

"Yellow alert, shields up," Kirk called. "Security, take this man to the brig."

"Captain, I am your guest!"

"You still are, we're just giving you a new room. And worse food."

"_Captain!_" Protesting, Mudd was dragged toward the turbolift.

"Phasers charged, torpedoes hot," Number One said from the weapons station.

Chekov eased down the warp engines. "Coming out of warp in three… two… one…"

The unnatural smoothness of warp travel gave way to the subconscious rumble of impulse. The elongated stars shortened into points of light and a planet grew from a speck to take up most of the viewscreen. It was M-class, with verdant green landmasses, sparkling blue oceans, and three majestic rings encircling it.

"You see, Captain, you see?" Mudd cried from the turbolift. "Eden!"

"Let him go," Kirk told the redshirt.

"Something's coming up on sensors," Spock said. "It does not match any known ship. I'm detecting… wood."

"Coming into visual range now, keptin."

"On screen."

The viewscreen magnified onto black sails and wooden hulls.

"Is it just me or is that a sailboat?" Sulu asked.

"In space?" Chekov added.

"An East Indiaman, to be precise." Spock looked into his viewer. "Captain, we're being hailed."

Kirk unfroze and made an impending-headache gesture. "On screen."

A window opened on the viewscreen. It appeared less as a camera's broadcast than a close-up on the tallship. Behind the ship's wheel, a gaudily-dressed pirate drew a cutlass from his waist.

"Avast, ye mateys, prepare to be boarded by Captain Jack Sparrow of the good ship Black Pearl!"

The crew watched him fire a flintlock into the air, or rather space, in utter silence.

Kirk spoke first. "…what the _fuck_?"

* * *

Author's notes: Yes, I know, I know, but TOS had Abraham Lincoln, Wyatt Earp, Jack the Ripper, and Genghis Khan as guest stars. Jack Sparrow isn't that much more outrageous, and hey, at least Spock's brain isn't missing :). Don't worry, this fic isn't taking a turn for the cracky. There's a perfectly, ah, logical explanation for this.

This installment was more jokey than I thought it would be when I sat down to write it, but hey, it's a Mudd fic, so I suppose I should've expected that. Please, picture Jim Broadbent as Mudd if it's not too much trouble.

And apparently Chevrolet is still around in the future. Hey, Star Trek always _was_ optimistic…


	3. Supplemental

Kirk watched in growing disbelief as the pirate ship—which was made of wood—did a half-turn. This was very impressive, as there was no wind in space. Or air. Then it broadsided them.

A tremor went through the ship, as if the warp drive had hiccupped. Sulu reported "Shields at 99.999999"

"I get the picture," Kirk said. "Number One, target the… mast and fire a warning shot."

A phaser lanced out and neatly chopped down the mast. The Black Pearl listed to port.

"Nice shooting. Mr. Spock, theories?"

"We are all involved in a mass hallucination, possibly brought on by narcotics."

"Spock, I'm not going to report to Command that we're all on drugs."

"They'd believe it," Uhura muttered.

"Keptin, we're being hailed," Chekov said.

"_How are they even doing that?_ On screen."

The bizarre visage of Jack Sparrow filled the viewscreen. "Parley?"

* * *

As soon as he was beamed onboard, Jack stumbled off the transporter pad, prat-fell into a roll, and bumped his head against the control console.

"You're the worst pirate I've ever seen, Mr. Sparrow," Jim told him.

"Captain!" Jack corrected. "Jimmy, you seem like a man who knows a fair deal. Certainly, by the Law of the Sea, you could take me back to the governor to be hanged, but whuzzat gain you? Won't put a drop of rum down y'ur men's gullets, now will it? And I was joking with you, after all."

"I'm not amused," Jim said. He'd been told there'd be pirates, not… gay pirate-themed junkies.

Jack pointed past him. "He thinks it's funny, don't you Mr…?"

"Spock. And no, I do not."

"Well, he probably didn't hear it right on account of the queer ears. Now Jimmy, you _could_ turn me over to the Squire, or I could take you to the planet of the Sirens, where moon-women sing their sons of seduction for any man." His eyebrows quirked. "And every man."

"This is a military vessel," Spock said. "We have orders."

"Better things to do than ferry around some old pirate? Smashing, just WRRRRRR," he whirled his fingers around next to his head to convey 'transporter', "me back to the Pearl and I'll be out your way."

"Hold on," Jim said, pushing Jack down into a chair with an arm on either shoulder. "You mentioned a Squire. Who's he?"

"Squire?" Jack looked around. "I don't remember saying that, and that's something I would've remembered saying, so it obviously wasn't said."

"You did say it," Spock said.

"Oy, who asked you!?"

"Are you afraid of him?" Jim asked as he leaned over the seated Jack.

"What? No! What? How would I be afraid of someone what's name I haven't even said?"

Jim stood up. "Take us to the Squire and we'll let you off with a warning."

"The Squire? Why didn't you just say, I thought you meant the Dire. The Squire and I, we're old chaps, thick as thieves him and I, me and him… us. Do I have to come?"

"Yes," Kirk and Spock said at once.

* * *

_Captain's Log: Supplemental. Investigating the strange phenomenon of the Black Pearl, we follow Captain Sparrow's directions into uncharted territory, to a local governor known only as the Squire. Will he be friend or foe? Only time will tell._

Additionally, the stardate is 450051.2, and contrary to Number One's gossip_, I do not say supplemental just because I've forgotten the stardate._

"You did still gin up your report," Number One said, not looking up from the phaser controls she was calibrating.

Kirk swiveled his command chair. "What did I say that wasn't completely factual?"

"Friend or foe, time will tell. It's like you're trying to make your log… suspenseful."

"Every captain's log I read at the Academy was boring as Argoasian lizard-men. I'm just trying to punch it up a little. For the kids."

"You're not supposed to do that."

"What, you don't like kids?"

"Are you done making the log?" Yeoman Rand asked, holding the recorder. "My arms are getting tired."

"Carry on." Kirk crossed his legs. "Exciting, isn't it, knowing that at any moment, any of us could be called on to make a decision that could save the Enterprise… or destroy her."

"You're doing it again," Number One said.

"Quiet on the bridge," Jim settled back in his chair. "Rank hath its privileges."

"Captain, there's something I think you should be aware of," Spock said.

Kirk hopped up and went to his station. "What's up?"

Spock pressed a button on his console. The screen showed a short clip of Captain Sparrow riding a horse to catch up to a train full of Confederate soldiers. Unlike their current passenger, this Jack had gray hair and a bamboo hand.

"It's from 'Pirates of the Caribbean: Jack Goes West'." Just saying the name obviously made Spock feel unacceptably illogical. "The eleventh in the series."

"Why would anyone want to watch eleven movies of this crap?" Jim looked up. "Wait, you're telling me the pirate in our brig is a _fictional character_."

"Yes. I just recalled him from nursery rhymes my mother used to sing to me."

"You remember… never mind. I'm sure there'll be a perfectly logical explanation for this once we find the Squire."

"Thank you, Captain."

* * *

It took four hours at high warp, crossing the sector to the end that bordered on unknown space, but they reached Jack's coordinates. Kirk tensed and turned off 'Pirates of the Caribbean: Jack Vs. Jaws' (the shark had just been given the ability to swim through land by a witch). "Sound yellow alert, just to be on the safe side."

"Aye, captain, yellow alert."

"Mr. Spock?"

"Detecting a planetary body, M-class." Spock's brow furrowed as the blue light of his scanner played over it. "Captain, visual processing of these readings would be most expedient."

"Seeing is believing, got it. On screen."

The viewscreen showed a blue-green world, spinning subtly under a veil of clouds. Jim stood up. "Goddamn. That's Earth."

"Or an amazing facsimile," Spock pointed out.

Kirk turned to him. "Life signs?"

"Inhabited, but readings do not correspond to Earth zoology. Only one settlement shows signs of intelligent life. Power readings off the chart. It is located in the Caribbeans."

"Open a hail," Jim ordered. He sat back down, trying to think of what to say. "Hi there?"

Impossibly, _words_ appeared on the viewscreen as if being written by an invisible hand. They said "Tally-ho!"

Jim felt Number One's eyes boring into the back of his skull. He knew she blamed him for this.

"Spock, little help?"

"Ancient Earth greetings, Captain. I believe we're being extended…" The Enterprise disappeared. "An invitation."

They were planetside, in what looked like (as Spock told Kirk) an old plantation. The manor itself, painted a gleaming white, glowed in the distance, but the jungle was much closer. It pressed in on them almost like a fist.

"Captain, I believe we have been beamed down to the planet."

"No shit." Jim reached for the phaser that wasn't on his belt, then settled for a rock. "How is that possible, we had our shields up?"

"How is it possible to beam onto a starship at warp?"

"I'm still not telling you how I did that, by the way. Hey Spock, correct me if I'm wrong—as _always_--but this tree isn't native to Earth." He was referring to the purple baobad tree with tentacles instead of branches.

"Indeed not. It's not my area of expertise, but I believe it is native to Mugat."

"Need a little more to go on, Spock."

"A planet in the Dra'M'He system. Its entire biosystem was wiped out by the evolution of a superpredator."

Something roared in the distance.

"Did it sound anything like that?" Kirk asked.

"Unknown, but a likely hypothesis."

"Run?"

"Yes."

They ran for the plantation, only getting a few steps before the foliage behind them exploded. A white blur of fur and claws streaked toward them, gaining ground rapidly. Since that Godzilla business on Delta Vega, Jim had been sure to take up jogging. He slipped through the humid air at roughly the same speed as Spock.

"This way," Spock said, and led him down a cleft in the land eight feet deep, a log bridging it. Its root-strewn depth was just wide enough for one. Spock went first, shoulder brushing clods of dirt from the walls. Then, with a loud _thump_, Kirk heard the predator land overhead. He tackled Spock to the ground just as it clawed for them, its muscular paw barely fitting into the crevice. The earth shook as it pounded the sides of the crevice in frustration.

Jim rolled off Spock, lying side by side with him. "You okay?"

"I am unharmed, Captain."

"Call me Jim."

"Captain, Starfleet regulations frown—"

"Consider it an order. Hey, that thing—"

"Carnivorus Mugatus," Spock said automatically.

"Yeah, the Mugatu. It stopped. Oh shit."

The Mugatu had begun digging, long claws the color of dried blood eating away at their shelter.

Kirk tried to stay cool despite the sod raining down on him. "Spock, thoughts?"

"It is only logical to accept death as a progression of life."

"Not helpful. Alright, Mugatu gets close enough, you give it your Sunday punch, then we run like hell."

Spock arched an eyebrow.

"What, you've got a better idea?"

"I do not see what bearing the day of the week has on pugilistics."

The mugatu shoved its elongated snout down at them, cutting off the discussion. Spock struck it in the nose, then they made a break for it. The maneuver only enraged it further. It lunged and tackled Spock a round the midsection, bearing him to the ground. Kirk wrapped his arm around the simian's thick neck as he aimed his knees at what he hoped were its kidneys, but the mugatu appeared not to notice him. Pinning Spock down, it drew back its horn expectantly.

A shot rang out. The exit wound burst just east of Kirk's head, splashing his face with thick blood. The mugatu pitched over, pawing at the hole in its chest. Jim pried its arms off Spock, who was scratched and dusty but fine. He pulled Jim away from the creature's death throes, just to be safe. "I believe that was a firearm."

"Or a cannon," Jim said. "Looks like I owe someone a beer."

"Ahh, I wouldn't hear of it. You will drink my private vintage!"

The voice was Estuary English, chipper as a sunrise. And its owner was as fantastic as anything they'd encountered on this mission. He was a lank, tall human dressed in Napoleonic uniform, with his trim chest covered in medals. The Starfleet officers were disquieted to see emblems from Nazi Germany and Colonel Green's regime among the decorations. His wild hair was not quite covered by a tricorne and a rapier hung at his side in a jewel-encrusted scabbard. He rested a blunderbuss on his shoulder, smoke billowing from the wide muzzle.

"I'm the Squire of Gothos, but my friends call me Trelane!"

"Squire…"

"Call me Trelane!"

"Trelane," Spock began, "what is your goal in absconding with us?"

"Why, introductions! I must get to know you before the Games begin!"

"Games?" Jim asked.

"Boring twaddle to talk about, but great fun to go about! First things first! Captain, would you care to administer the coup de grace?"

Kirk looked at the mugatu's copious bleeding. "No thanks," he said with disgust.

"Brilliant, more for me!" Drawing a rod from his chest, Trelane telescoped it into a staff as tall as a man, the top in the shape of a gyroscopic crescent. When he jammed the glowing blue end into the mugatu's neck, the weapon automatically collected the beast's head.

"Come then, so much to do and so little time." He laughed uproariously. "Heh, time."

Trelane trotted his horse to the plantation, mugatu head held high. The Starfleet officers jogged lightly to keep up. Trelane kept up mile-a-minute smalltalk all the way through the trip, mostly boasting about his hunting trophies, or quizzing them on their battle with the Narada. His knowledge was extensive for an incident that was still mostly classified.

Finally they reached the plantation, where Trelane planted his pike by the gate. The mugatu's head was one of many.

"As a fellow military man, I know you're as appalled as I at the dearth of decent wars. That's why it's so important this next one be a goer. I don't think we're due another for a whole century! Ruddy Organians, always spoiling everyone's fun! Worse than that wormhole bunch, the wankers. And that nursemaid, stuff him, thank me he's in the Delta Quadrant or we'd never have any fun. But ahh, don't you worry, they can't stop the games. Wine?"

"We're on duty," Jim said, half-marveling at the furnishings. Spock, equally intrigued, catalogued the furniture and decorations with an upturned eyebrow. The plantation was furnished with the richest detail in all things, from the Persian rugs to the gargantuan fireplaces. Murals on the walls, each the size of a shuttlecraft, depicted bloody battles. Jim recognized Kahn at the Battle of Tehran.

"Oh, don't be that way, Captain, I must insist! Have some Romulan Ale!"

"No, thank you."

Trelane darkened, the candles and fireplaces guttering like in the darkness under a storm. "You must foil all my attempts to be a gracious host, mustn't you? Fine then, be a bore. Soon you'll be begging for my hospitality."

"We don't take kindly to threats," Jim threatened.

"Oh, that was no threat, captain. That was a promise." Trelane's voice was as heavy as a black hole. "And a gentleman always keeps his word. Tea?"

"Yes, please," Spock said, eager to return their host to an even keel.

* * *

Trelane served them from a trolley, humming merrily. "I do hope the pirates didn't give you any trouble. They can be a bother, but that is the point."

"You… created them?" Spock asked.

"I was lonely," Trelane muttered. Unguarded, his voice was child-like, anguished. He sprung up. "They are such marvelous fun to kill, aren't they, aren't they?"

"We have not killed the pirates," Spock said.

"Well, your loss. I do hope you'll be a touch more bloodthirsty in the Games. Otherwise you've no hope of winning."

With a 'fuck it' eye-roll, Kirk pounded his fist on the table. "Trelane, I don't know what these games are, but if they're as violent and brutal as you make them sound—"

"Oh, they are, I promise!"

"—then we want no part of them!"

Trelane fumed, then obliterated it with a sip of his tea. "But of course, captain, you don't know the prize."

"No prize will convince me to endanger my crew!"

"Oh, now there's a segue if I've ever heard one!" Trelane bounded up. "Come along, you wouldn't dare forgive yourself for missing this!"

"We're not going anywhere!" Kirk snapped. "You'll return us to our ship immediately or we'll—" They were in a new room. "I hate when he does that."

"I myself was most curious how you planned to end that sentence," Spock said.

This room was almost like a museum exhibit, only it was the size of a baseball stadium. The walls were thick with paintings and statues served as oases in the vast desert of tiled floor.

"I must confess, like any collector, I take an immodest pride in my collection. No slur intended against you… _pacifists_, Commander Spock, but I've always been especially fond of Earth. Oh, what a treat it is when I'm able to pluck one of you lovelies through space-time. I have so much fun and I learn so much. Just look!" He pointed to a statue. It was painted so well it almost looked alive. "Amelia Earhart! And a tongue on her, that one. Had to freeze her sooner rather than later. Women, eh? Come on then, there's still more, still more."

He led and Spock followed, though Jim crossed his arms and hunkered down. He couldn't even announce his protest before he was shoved along by an invisible wall.

"Here we are!" Trelane leaned proudly against a male statue. "Guess who, my dear captain."

Jim glanced petulantly. "I've never seen him before in my life."

"I believe_that!_" Trelane chuckled. "Look closer. And Spock, we wouldn't want you to feel left out. A logic problem. The Narada and the Jellyfish were pulled through a red hole—that's artificial black hole, if you're trying to keep up captain, it's not really red—but both emerged unharmed. Here's the question. What happened to Vulcan?"

Jim had known Spock long enough to see the tremor pass through his jawline. "The seismic disturbances caused by the gravitational pull would've rendered it uninhabitable. It would emerge as sheer rubble. Nothing could survive."

"_Unless_ someone put it back together." Trelane put a hand against a miles-tall wall and slouched. "Come now, Spock, I always figured you for a big picture kind of guy."

Spock looked at the portraits on the wall Trelane was leaning against. Landscapes. He recognized them. Temple of Amonak, the T'Karath Sanctuary, the Fire Plains. Vulcan. Some of the landscapes had people on them.

"Old photos," Jim murmured, adrift. "Dad?"

The statue unfroze, came to life in time to hear Kirk's whisper. George recognized his wife's eyes. "James?" He reached out to him. "Is this heaven?"

Trelane snapped his fingers and George froze again, fingers inches from Jim's. "You tell me. So, gentleman, now you know the prize. And here are the stakes. You lose, your universe dies. Ready? Set?"


	4. The Game's Afoot

When the Captain and Spock disappeared, most of the crew looked around. Number One took a moment to blink, then stood up from her station. "Full reverse. Helm, back us off five AU. Chekov, take over at Science and give me a full sensor sweep."

Chekov bounded out of his seat and, sidestepping the spot where Commander Spock had disappeared, sat down at the science station. "No transporter beam of any sort detected."

"Keep looking. Scan the planet," Number One ordered. "Uhura, open a channel to Starfleet Command and prepare a burst transmission of our sensor logs. Ask for their recommendation and possible reinforcement."

Sulu turned at his station. "We're writing a report?"

"An unknown alien intelligence just abducted the captain and science officer of a ship of the line. What would you have me do, slap it around until it gives them up?"

Uhura looked up from the frequencies she'd been monitoring. "Perhaps the prisoner has some information we can use."

"Are you familiar with second-millennium pirates, Ms. Uhura?"

"I'm a quick learner."

"Well," Number One said, looking at the viewscreen that had so recently been scribbled on, "it's obvious the contact knows our language, making your utility here limited. Get what you can out of him, but don't even bend the regulations concerning prisoner interrogation."

Uhura clenched her fist, pissed that Number One even thought she needed to be reminded of inalienable rights, but then, if the other woman had any idea of how worried and angry Uhura was, she was right to be cautious. Uhura took a deep breath and walked to the turbolift.

* * *

"You look very familiar. Have we met?"

Uhura resisted the urge to roll her eyes. What was it about the Enterprise that attracted lechs of every species? The Captain, Gaila, even Spock could be downright kinky sometimes.

"No, Mr. Sparrow, you're a pirate, I'm a communications officer aboard a starship. We haven't met."

Sparrow nodded decisively. "Alright, you have trustworthy eyes, I believe you." He tapped the forcefield a few times. "Whuzzis? Some kind of invisible wood?"

"It's a forcefield, Mr. Sparrow. To keep you in the brig."

"Oh. I don't like it." He tapped it some more. "Right unnatural, that." He tapped it with both hands. "I think I can kinda play a song on it!"

"Stop that!"

Jack shot his hands behind his back. "Sorry. Are you sure we've never met?"

"Oh, I'd remember you." Uhura stepped right up next to the forcefield. "The captain and Spock are gone. The Squire abducted them."

"Cheeky bastard, him. I told ya you didn't want to meet him. We could be settling back with some frothing mugs of grog right now in Barcelona. You do like grog, don't you?"

"I love grog. Who is the Squire and what has he done with my friends?"

"Well…" Sparrow scratched his head. "If he's anything like I remember him, he's a right bloody-minded chap with the moral turpitude of a fish's gutsacks, savvy? He brought me up because he wanted to hunt some pirates, only I was too smart for him. Through a series of enterprises too thrilling and crafty to be related to a lady of your obvious standing, I faked me ship's blowing-up and set out to ply my livings on the spacelanes."

"But…" Uhura didn't know where to start. "How can you breathe in space?"

"Love," Jack slinked closer, only to blitz unexpectedly into the forcefield and back off. He drew himself back up to pirating height with great dignity. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."

"Alright then." Uhura turned to the security officer on duty. "Could you bring me a cup of coffee?" She glanced at Jack. "You want anything?"

"Do you have rum?"

"We do."

"Good. I'll have that and a Caesar salad, easy on the croutons, topped with shrimp, and make the eggs all coddled. But don't forget the rum."

Uhura sat down. "So the Squire created you?"

"Yes."

"So he could hunt you for sport?"

"It's a hard-knock life, love. You really don't remember me at all?"

"For the last time, no."

"So, if I had, say, a boat… a boat of yours, one might say… and I wished to return it to you, being a gentleman of honor and good taste in fashion, you would say 'I never loaned you no boat,' or something along this lines, but more womanish?"

Uhura stared at him. "Thank you for your time."

"Not that you did loan me a boat, obviously!" Jack called after her.

* * *

"Any word from Starfleet?" Uhura asked as she strode back onto the bridge.

"No. Any news from Captain Sparrow?"

"He owes me a boat."

"Intriguing. Send another report to Starfleet." Number One walked in front of the viewscreen again, a pacing that let her oversee the various bridge stations.

"Sir, do you have any plans to rescue the captain?" Uhura insisted.

"At present, none."

"So you're not even going to try?"

"It would be a foolish endeavor, and I would only countenance it if ordered to by Starfleet."

"They could be _dying_…"

"Let me make something clear right now." Number One sat down in the captain's chair. "My foremost priority is the safety of this crew, including the Captain. But until his return, I am the sole authority aboard this vessel."

She was interrupted by a slow, sarcastic clap. When she turned around to see who it was, Kirk smiled at her.

Number One's eyes narrowed. "You planned that, didn't you?"

"No, just lucky that way." Kirk made a little shooing gesture, getting her out of the chair, then sat back down. Spock did the same at the science station, picking over the readings taken since he'd been gone. "Uhura, is that report ready?"

"_You're_ checking in with Starfleet Command?" Number One exclaimed, as surprised as she ever was.

"Those were good calls you made. Wouldn't have done it any different."

"Could you not say that ever again, Captain? It makes me doubt my place in the universe."

* * *

While Kirk recorded his report to Starfleet, coincidentally in earshot of the bridge crew, Uhura pressed two fingers to the back of Spock's hand. It was a gesture of Vulcan intimacy, letting the race of touch telepaths feel each others' thoughts. With Uhura, the share could only be one-way, letting him feel her relief at his safe return, but she didn't need to be a telepath to know he was uneasy.

"What's wrong?" she whispered.

"I am…" he paused, "fine. The captain and I are in circumstances which are emotionally trying, but it will not affect the performance of our duties."

"Which means you're worried it might."

"No. I meant I am unsure to where my duty lies. Vulcan or Starfleet." He inclined his head slightly toward her. "It is unfair to burden you with this. I will consider it further at a later date."

"And tell me what you come up with?"

Spock touched two fingers to the back of her hand. "As always."

Kirk's voice rose above the subtle exchange. "Trelane said the game was on, then sent us back here. How long were we gone?"

"Twenty minutes, twenty-six seconds," Number One said.

"I counted an hour spent off the Enterprise," Spock said.

"Great, more time travel. Spock, why don't you check in with your man on New Vulcan?"

* * *

The elder Spock was unavailable. Spock retired to his quarters to meditate. Hope was a very potent emotion. He could not allow it to influence his decision-making. There was no proof Trelane's claims were accurate.

His door chime rang. "Enter."

Jim Kirk swaggered in, a black tee replacing the top half of his uniform. A bottle dangled from his hand. "I thought we should talk."

"Does conversing require the consumption of alcoholic beverages?"

"Oh yeah." Jim took a geometric crystal out of his pocket, cracked it into two shotglasses, and poured for them.

"Jim, I must point out the foolhardiness of imbibing while the ship is at risk.

"Synthehol, Spock. You'll make a teetotaler out of me yet."

Spock took his glass, staring at the amber liquid. "On Vulcan, it was considered illogical to willfully impair oneself." He drank. Didn't cough.

"Doesn't matter," Jim said. "Doesn't matter if they're real or not. This is just another bribe, same as anything Mudd could offer. We're Starfleet officers. We can't allow ourselves to be compromised."

"We should consider the possibility."

"No, we shouldn't!"

"Allow me to rephrase. We _are_ considering the possibility. We should merely be honest about it." Spock set his glass down. "Refill?"

Jim poured. "I can't compare my loss to yours. I never knew my—father, you lost your home…"

"On the contrary. I had a chance to know my mother. You did not. Even being able to say goodbye… Jim, if the Squire intends to compel our cooperation, we can at least attempt to make the best of a bad situation."

"You make it sound so easy."

"It is a hard choice. But when the time comes, I believe approaching the matter with logic will simplify it immensely."

"I think I can do that." Jim nursed his next drink, swishing it and letting the light refract through the glass and into his eyes. "My mom had this hologram of him. I used to call it dad. My stepfather threw it out, so I bet his paycheck on the Clippers." He drank, stared into the empty glass. "You know what I thought when they pinned that medal on me, gave me this ship? 'I bet he's proud'… He looked at me. He called my name. If I can't be neutral about this, you don't let me do anything stupid, alright?"

"I will apply myself fully, but I do not see how I will meet with more success than I have in the past."

"Was that a joke?"

"Most assuredly not."

Jim finished off a long pull from the bottle. "God, this stuff is piss. Remind me to get you some real beer next time we're on shore leave."

"I will attempt to contain my anticipation."

"You're a mean drunk, you know that?"

The intercom cut in. "Captain to the bridge, we've received a distress signal. It's from the Klingons, sir."

Jim sobered instantly. "C'mon, Spock, they're playing our song."

* * *

Kirk sat in the command chair and rubbed his chin, hunching forward as if he couldn't get comfortable. Finally, Sulu reported that they were coming into range.

"Jim," Spock said, standing by the captain's chair. "Have you considered the possibility that Trelane is involved in this?"

"I haven't been able to consider anything else."

They dropped out of warp.

The outpost was a shipyard. Around an elephant graveyard of ships under construction was an elaborately spinning field of components, from wings to disruptors, waiting to be installed.

And firing on it was a wide-bodied starship, squat and round, the registration numbers NCC-1701-D emblazoned on its saucer section. The USS Enterprise.


End file.
